Common Courtesy
by cantfindmypants
Summary: Dean decides to be old-fashioned and ask God for permission to propose to Castiel.
1. Dean Behaves Inappropriately in Church

"Our Father, who… ain't in Heaven…"

Dean barely stifled a snicker. It wasn't his fault. Hell, anyone would find the classic prayers a bit pointless had they known what he knew. But it was a terrible time to reflect on irony, and with a sigh, he allowed his gaze to travel upwards to the enormous gilded crucifix hanging on the wall in front of him.

"Um, hi," he began again, and cleared his throat softly before continuing. "I don't know if you're hearing this. Uh, not sure if you tune in to the whole 'angel radio' thingamajig… I mean, I'd get why you wouldn't." He glanced over his shoulder, and lowered his voice. "Some of those brat kids of yours need their feathery asses beat, I'm not gonna lie."

He dropped his forehead to bang against the edge of the pew in front of him. If meeting Jenny Moore's parents when he was 13 had been uncomfortable, this was downright agonizing, even without his unfortunate habit of getting his foot stuck deeper in his mouth every time he opened it.

"So, uh, you're probably wondering what I'm doing… here…" Dean glanced around the deserted sanctuary. "Or maybe not. I mean, with you being God and all…" He cleared his throat again, mouth suddenly a bit too dry for comfort. "I…"

A few deep, steadying breaths, and he could say it. How hard could it be, after all? He doubted the Big Guy was even listening in the first place. And even if He was, something this insignificant (compared to the Apocalypse, at least) wasn't likely to pique His interest. Another deep breath, and he felt the word levee burst.

"Don't know why I'm even bothering to tell you this, 'cause I'm sure you already know, but Cas and I… we… well, we're close. Like, close-close. And I…" His head collided with the pew again, and he shoved his hand into his left pocket "See this?" he said, maybe a bit louder than necessary, hand outstretched towards the giant crucifix. The light from the candles—the only light in the room, save the faintest glow of moonlight through the stained glass—reflected delicately along the elaborate grooves and engravings on the otherwise simple gold ring resting in the center of his palm. "Nice, ain't it? And I didn't even steal it! Honest to G… to you."

With considerable effort, Dean suppressed the urge to laugh. "So, I guess what I'm trying to say," he continued once he'd regained his composure. "I know we don't see eye-to-eye. And after all the shit with the demons and Hell and however many of your kids I've iced… well, I can see why. But Cas... He loves you, and he's always called you his father, and if you mean anywhere near as much to him as… as my dad did, I…" He trailed off, voice catching in his throat for a moment before he continued. "I thought I should have the common courtesy to ask your permission to marry one of your kids."

The silence was deafening. In all honesty, Dean had no idea what he was expecting, but anything that took that much effort to say deserved at least an acknowledgement, didn't it? Nothing big. Maybe some candle-flickering, or a dove smacking into the window. Anything was better than nothing.

"You know what? Fine." Dean got unsteadily to his feet, knees long past aching and edging more into the territory of 'dull throbbing'. "Don't know what I'm even doing here. And hey!" His voice echoed slightly in the empty room. "Next time you come down from your damn mountaintop, tell the masses to put some freaking cushions on these things! No wonder people hate going to church." He kicked the edge of the pew for emphasis, and immediately regretted it as the pain shot through his toe. "Shit!"

For a moment, all he wanted to do was storm out of the church and put the whole pointless experience behind him, but no sooner had he taken a step into the aisle, his mouth was moving—seemingly of its own accord.

"What's it take to get through to you, huh?!" he shouted at the ceiling, heedless of the loud echo it produced. "There's gotta be something you care about! Clearly not the Apocalypse, or your kids having a civil war while you're out! What about Cas? You think just putting him back together after he's been torn to bits puts you in the running for Dad of the Year? Far as I know, you just like watching him suffer!"

The candles flickered in a sudden draft, and Dean's verbal onslaught ended as quickly as it had begun. A feeling of hope (and maybe a bit of dread) had sprung in his chest, and he glanced around nervously until a tiny cough sounded from the door behind him.

"I'm sorry, son, but we're locking up for the night," the small man said. Dean felt his heart sink.

"I'm not done with this douchebag yet," he protested, pointing at the crucifix adorning the far wall. "He needs to give me some sort of sign. After all the bullshit he's got me putting up with, it's the least he can freaking do!"

The man gave a quizzical look, but held the door open and gestured for Dean to follow. "God will still be here tomorrow," he said, easing the doors shut behind them.

"The hell he will," Dean grumbled. He stood rooted to the same spot for a good ten minutes before giving up, feet dragging somewhat as he walked back towards the Impala.


	2. In Which God is a Fan of Taylor Swift

The next evening found Dean knelt in the same row in the sanctuary of the same dilapidated old church, with the same air of anxiety enveloping him as the night before. The whole room seemed a bit eerie, and the silence was repeatedly broken by the sound of rain lashing against the windows, coupled with the intermittent thunderclaps that rattled the panes.

"Look, about last night…" he began, pausing to find the right words. "I was pissed. It's just, this is kinda important, you know? Asking a father's permission before popping 'the question'." A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the sanctuary, and Dean bowed his head until it rested against the same pew he'd banged it on the previous night. "Cas is important to me," he continued softly. "And you're important to him. And I know it would mean the world to him if I could say I got your… blessing. Please." Voice now barely more than a whisper, he repeated, "_Please._ I just need some kind of sign. Anything." A crack of thunder pierced the silence, but other than the reverberations throughout the rickety building, there was nothing.

"Right," Dean sighed, struggling to his feet, and making a mental note to bring a pillow along next time. "I'll just, uh…" he gestured towards the door with a tilt of his head. "You know. Before the little janitor boots me out again."

As he trudged toward the heavy double doors, he risked a glance over his shoulder at the crucifix on the wall. The dark wood and the carved figure nailed to it remained unmoving, even in the flickering lightning and candlelight. Just as he knew they would. Not that he had expected anything different.

What he absolutely _didn't_ expect, however, was for his feet to fly out from underneath him in an almost comical fashion as he stepped in a small puddle on the floor. The irony was not lost on him as the faded 'Wet Floor' sign teetered over and fell next to where he lay sprawled on his back, winded and annoyed. "Not the kind of sign I was talking about," he winced. The sign emblazoned 'Sanctuary -' wobbled dangerously on its hook overhead.

By the time he got back in the Impala, the storm had only worsened. Gale-force winds bent the trees over like hookers, lightning flashed overhead in an epileptic driver's worst nightmare, and rain poured down over the streets like a waterfall. Still, Dean was eager to put as much distance as he could between himself and the church. He'd driven in much worse than rain before, and usually with either something chasing him, or with Sam and Cas chattering away in the back seat, slowly driving him crazy.

His thoughts drifted momentarily back to Cas as he glanced in the rear-view mirror. Usually, the angel would be resting his head in one hand, staring out the window and looking as though watching the scenery fly by through the car window was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. Dean had commented on it several times, but Cas had been so intrigued by… well, everything… that he couldn't bring himself to burst the angel's bubble by calling the great outdoors 'boring'.

After fumbling with the keys for a moment, the engine roared to life, accompanied by the ear-splitting sound of some song on the radio.

_'Don't you worry, don't you worry, child. See heaven's got a plan for you~'_

"What the hell?!" Dean yelped, twisting the volume knob as far down as it would go. Once the car was quiet again, he stared at the offending appliance. He didn't remember even having the radio on when he'd arrived, much less having it tuned in to any local station in the outskirts of Bumfuck, Wyoming. "Sam," he grumbled, shaking his head as he switched on the windshield wipers. "Stop messing with my radio, man."

The road was darker than the previous night; something he'd originally attributed to the torrential downpour, but now realized was due to the lack of street lamps. Well, not exactly an absence. The posts were there, but the lights were out, leaving the road illuminated by lightning and the Impala's headlights. The power had probably gone out at the motel too, and Dean grinned at the mental image of Sam immediately yelling at Cas for blowing the fuse box again. Not that Dean blamed Sam for jumping to conclusions, though. Most of the time, it _did_ have something to do with Cas, and the innocently offended expression on his face when confronted was absolutely priceless.

There was a sudden burst of song from the radio once again. Dean jumped, coming only seconds away from veering off the road as he slammed on the brakes. _'Caaan you feeeel the looove toniiight~?'_

He slammed his fist onto the dash (maybe with a bit more force than strictly necessary), and the radio faded into static. Once he was certain the music had stopped for good, Dean steered back onto the road. "Probably that damn iPod jack screwing with you, huh Baby?" he muttered. "Sam touches you again, and he'd better pray I'm dead for good."

_'Yeah she's a rebel child and a preacher's daughter, She was baptized in dirty water~'_

"Alright, who's doing that?!" Dean shouted, car screeching to a stop in a puddle. "Screwing with me, Sammy and Cas is one thing, but _goddamnit_, messing with my car is where I draw the line!"

_'__Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life? Say yes, say yes 'cause I need to know~'_

Dean's eyes widened as he stared at the radio. "God?" he breathed. "Uh, Big Guy, is that you?"

_'You a stupid hoe, you a, you a stupid hoe, You a stupid hoe, you a, you a stupid hoe~'_

"Seriously? You're communicating through mainstream music?"

_'I pray a flowerpot falls from the windowsill, and knocks you in the head like I'd like to~'_

Dean winced. "Alright, I retract my previous statement," he grumbled. "Look, you're not gonna go all Divine Wrath on me, are you? 'Cause I dated this one girl whose dad was an ex-Marine, and let's just say I kinda know a thing or two about overprotective dads not wanting me touching their kids." He paused. "Wow, that kinda came out a little creepier than I planned." For a moment, there was nothing but static, and Dean took it as a good sign. "If you're really as all-knowing as they say you are, then you should already know how important Cas is to me," he continued. "And if you're not all-knowing and whatever, then… well, I love Cas. More than anything. Him and Sammy are the most important people in my life, and you already know the crazy shit I've done for Sam. I'd do the same for Cas in a heartbeat, even after knowing all this crap. I just... wanna make him happy, you know?"

_'__But just look at us holding on, We're still together, still going strong~'_

"Uh, yeah, I guess…" Dean said, shifting uncomfortably. "Look, If you've gotta communicate through the radio, can't you use something other than… whatever that was?"

_'I ain't even mad, kiss my ass, Sincerely, kiss my ass~'_

"Okay, I guess I know where Cas gets it from." There was more static, and Dean decided to clarify. "The… sass. Least, that's what Sam calls it. Says it more than ten times a day. Like father, like son, huh?" There seemed to be a bit of a rhythm to the static, and Dean could only assume it was laughter. "So, uh, what d'ya say, then? You're not gonna smite me if I ask Cas to marry me?"

_'Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone. I love you, and that's all I really know. I talked to your dad–go pick out a white dress, It's a love story, baby, just say, 'Yes.'~_

"Taylor Swift?" Dean shot back, indignant. "Really? You're giving me permission through a Taylor freaking Swift song?!"

_'I take it back with the rhythm and blues~'_

"I was just kidding!" he said hastily. "Taylor Swift is… fine, I guess," he added with an air of resignation. "Could've been worse. I mean, at least you're not playing that Beebs kid, what's-his-name." He took a breath. "So that's a yes, then?"

_'Let's just get married, I just wanna get married, Meet me in the altar in your white dress~'_

Dean's face finally relaxed, and he rested his head on the steering wheel. "Thanks, man," he said, unable to contain his smile any longer. "Seriously, thank you. You have no idea what this means to—well, yeah, actually, you probably do. You're first on my invite list for the bachelor party, okay?"

The static finally stopped, and the radio went quiet. Experimentally, Dean fidgeted with the volume, but the only sound out of the radio was a song from one of his dated Metallica cassettes. "Right then," he said, still grinning as he started back on the road to the motel, too elated to notice the street lamps flickering back on as he drove.

* * *

><p>Songs used (in order):<p>

Can You Feel the Love Tonight-Elton John  
>Don't You Worry Child-Swedish House Mafia<br>God Love Her-Toby Keith  
>Rude-Magic!<br>Stupid Hoe-Nicki Minaj  
>Pray For You-Jaron and the Long Road to Love<br>Still the One-Shania Twain  
>Kiss My Ass-K. Michelle<br>Love Story-Taylor Swift  
>Take It Back-Ed Sheeran<br>Let's Get Married (remix)-Jagged Edge


	3. In Which Sam is Very Observant

If Dean thought getting permission from the Almighty to marry an angel had been difficult, the next couple of weeks stood as a stark reminder that things could—and often would—always get worse. Not that there was anything wrong, really. It was just the pressure that was getting to him. Now that he had God's approval to propose, there seemed to be the unspoken need for him to make the actual moment up to His impossibly high standards.

And while Dean _was_, in fact, a self-proclaimed master in the ancient art of "lame pickup lines that should never have worked, but somehow did", the art of meaningful and memorable romantic gestures was not included in his extensive skills set. Asking Sam for help in the matter was right out at first, but as the weeks dragged on, Dean was beginning to reconsider. After all, if anyone knew the touchy-feely make-em-weak-in-the-knees schmoopy crap, it was Sam. But still, Dean had his pride, and wasn't quite desperate enough to ask.

Fortunately, he didn't have to. "Alright, what's up?" Sam said out of freaking nowhere, sinking into the chair across from his brother.

"The ceiling," Dean replied automatically, knowing That Tone could never mean anything good.

Sam ignored the pitiful attempt at deflection, and continued as though Dean hadn't said anything. "You've been pouting."

"I have not!" he snapped, finally looking up from his beer to the anticipated bitchface gracing his brother's countenance. "I don't… _pout._"

"Uh huh." Sam's voice dripped with blatant disbelief as he arched an eyebrow. "Then what do _you_ call it? You've been pretty out of it lately, Dean."

"How have I been 'out of it'?" Dean asked, indignant.

Sam shrugged and pretended to think about it. "Oh, gee, I dunno. Let's start with you barely talking anymore—"

"I talk."

"—or how you've been looking at old wedding pictures of mom and dad when you think I'm not around."

"So I'm nostalgic. Sue me."

"You were flipping through a trashy bridal magazine at the Five-and-Dime yesterday!"

Dean flushed. "There wasn't anything else to read."

"It was right between an issue of Guns and Ammo and a beef jerky display," Sam shot back. "You have no excuse."

"I'd pick hot chicks in white dresses over beef jerky any day," he replied with an offhanded shrug.

Sam's mouth hung open in bemused shock. "No, you _wouldn't!_" he laughed. "The only things you'd pick over beef jerky are pie, your car and Cas!" A wave of realization suddenly crashed over Sam's face, and his grin was replaced by a look of shock. "Waitaminute." Dean sighed. He knew what was coming before Sam even had a chance to whisper the words. "Are you… gonna propose to Cas?"

When Dean didn't reply and instead shifted uncomfortably in his chair, eyes boring a hole in his beer, Sam's face split into the widest grin he'd seen in years. "You are!"

"Don't get too excited, Sammy," Dean grumbled. "You'll make a mess."

"Ha ha," Sam said dryly. "So what's with the 'my dog just got run over' look? This is great news! What, are you worried he won't say yes?"

Dean winced. "Well, I was thinking more along the lines of 'how the hell do you even propose to an angel', but yeah, I guess there's that too. Thanks."

"Oh, c'mon, Dean!" Sam said as he stood and walked to the fridge. "Cas is crazy about you. It's really," Sam lowered his voice dramatically, "_reeeally_ obvious. Here, want another one?" He held out a fresh bottle of beer.

"I'm still working on mine."

"Suit yourself. So, have you decided how you're gonna do it?"

"Do what?" Sam gave him The Look as he took a swig of his beer. "Oh. That. No, I'm still, uh, working out the details."

Sam plopped back down in his chair. "Well, what's the plan so far?"

"Um, about that…" Dean began hesitantly, fidgeting with the pop tab on his beer can.

"You have absolutely no idea, do you?"

Dean shook his head. "Well, first I thought I could take him to where we first met," he said. "But then I realized Hell might not be the most romantic spot to pop the question." Sam nodded, doing his best to hide the grin he felt creeping back onto his face. "Then I thought of taking him out to eat, and hiding the ring in his food." Sam took another drink of beer, not trusting himself to speak. "But you know how he inhales those cheeseburgers. He'd probably eat the ring and not even notice."

Sam spluttered on the mouthful of beer, and quickly descended into a vigorous coughing fit.

"Hey, I don't hear _you_ giving any good ideas, genius!" Dean snapped, as Sam mopped up the beer dribbling from his mouth and nose. "This whole thing is a lot harder than it looks, okay?"

"You're overthinking it, Dean," Sam said, once he'd caught his breath. "Besides, you really think Cas even _likes_ all that mushy-gushy crap? Start sweet-talking him too much, and he's gonna think your brain's melting or something."

Dean leaned forward slightly, and after a moment, Sam unconsciously mirrored him. "Look, Sammy, if I tell you something, you promise not to think I'm crazy?"

"I already think you're crazy."

"Okay, nevermind," Dean said in resignation. "Uh… God kinda gave me permission to marry Cas."

There was a solid minute of silence, where Sam's mouth worked furiously, but no sound came out. Finally, he let out a small laugh. "God?" he echoed. "Like, _God_-God?"

"Yeah. _God_-God."

"God, who's been MIA for who knows how long?" Sam repeated again. "That God?"

"Yep."

"And he gave you permission to marry Cas?"

"Um, yeah."

"Wow." Sam leaned back in his chair. "How'd _that_ happen?"

Dean drained the last of his beer, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Uh, would you believe he communicated through shitty songs on the radio?"

Sam snickered. "How shitty are we talking?"

"Well, he called me a stupid hoe, played some song from the Lion King, and got kinda pissy when I insulted Taylor Swift."

"Taylor… Swift?" Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I guess God's a fan or something."

"You realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?"

"Hey, man, I dunno," Dean replied with a cheesy grin. "She's kinda hot."

Sam snorted under his breath. "Yeah, don't let Cas hear you say that." Dean's grin widened, and Sam rolled his eyes. "So I suppose you need ideas, right?"

"I didn't say that," Dean replied a little too quickly.

"Yeah, but you do."

He could have argued. Made some comment about Sam assuming he couldn't handle something as simple as a marriage proposal. Could have said it was personal, and he didn't need any help, thank you very much. "Yeah, I do," he said with an air of resignation. "Besides, this girly crap's more your thing anyway."

Sam let out an indignant little laugh and folded his arms across his chest. "Okay, just for that, you're buying me a case of beer before I agree to anything."


	4. In Which Dean Chokes on a Cheeseburger

The first time Dean tried to propose, he followed Sam's advice of 'keeping it simple'. While both were sure that Cas understood the concept and importance of marriage, they also figured that he would be a bit less familiar with the customs surrounding it, and why random people might be very excited and loud with their congratulations. And, really, the last thing they needed was Cas misunderstanding and accidentally blinding the bystanders.

Going the 'simple' route hadn't been too hard to plan. And Sam was right—the meaning behind an overly-planned and complex proposal would probably go right over Cas' head anyways. So he'd booted Sam out of the motel for the night, ordered some pizza, got some booze and rented Sharknado 2.

Everything seemed to be going well.

The night started off uneventful, but entertaining. But, then again, it was almost impossible _not_ to be entertained by "FROGGER!" after a few drinks. It all seemed perfect. Cas was smiling, the pizza was delicious, the beer was cold, the movie was… stupid, but Cas was having a good time, so who cared?

Dean knew exactly what he was going to say. Word-for-word, in a speech he'd replayed in his head for months. The only problem was his mouth.

It wouldn't work. His nerves were completely frayed, and it only got worse whenever he slid his hand into his pocket to feel the warm metal of the ring. Every time he opened his mouth, an embarrassing little 'eep' noise came out, and he was forced to cover it up by either coughing or taking a drink. This continued for the rest of the night, and the last coherent thought to cross Dean's mind was a question of who replaced his beer with an empty bottle of Jack.

The next morning found him sprawled on the couch with a bedsheet tucked lovingly around his body, and a large bottle of aspirin by his head.

* * *

><p>The second time was better, but still a complete disaster. Dean had opted for smuggling cheeseburgers into the movie theater, and quickly declined when Cas offered to sneak some beer in as well. No siree, Dean was staying far away from the alcohol this time.<p>

The way he saw it, he would have the entire movie time to iron out any kinks in The Plan, and to steady his nerves before the main event. It was supposed to be flawless.

And it was, up until about halfway through the movie. His nerves were acting up again, and while nowhere near as bad as the last time, Cas had still managed to notice. "Dean, are you feeling alright?" he asked quietly, and in his haste to reply with a casual "I'm fine," he forgot about the mouthful of cheeseburger he had yet to swallow. Until it became lodged firmly in his throat.

The next few minutes were a blur; mostly glimpses of Cas' confused face as he tried to figure out why Dean was suddenly turning blue. Then there were lights and shouting, and darkness. When he finally came to a couple minutes later, the theater lights were on, and he was lying on his back in the middle of the aisle surrounded by way too many people. "The hell happened?" he muttered.

"You choked," the usher explained. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, 'm fine."

Upon receiving confirmation that Dean was indeed alive and breathing, the usher decided it was finally safe to kick him and Cas out of the theater. "It says 'No Outside Food or Drink!' Learn to read!"

* * *

><p>The third attempt was actually the contingency plan for the second attempt, but deserved its own number due to its tragic outcome. To be fair, Cas was well within his rights to be curious as to why Dean was so annoyed about being kicked out of a movie theater.<p>

"I seem to recall you _laughing_ when we were thrown out of the brothel," he reasoned, head resting slightly against the Impala's passenger window. "I don't understand why this is not amusing to you. Perhaps if we had been chased…"

Dean felt a smile spreading across his face and suddenly, the tension just _melted_. "It didn't have anything to do with that, Cas," he said with a chuckle. "Actually, it'll make a pretty good story, now that you mention it." He briefly met Cas' gaze before turning his eyes back to the road as he reached into his pocket. "It's just, there was something I kinda wanted to ask—"

"Dean! Look out!"

Cas' shout was barely warning enough for Dean to slam on the brakes, but still not soon enough to avoid smacking into the demon crossing the street. How did they know it was a demon? Well, when a face with huge black eyes smacks into the windshield at 40mph, it's kind of hard _not_ to notice.

"Oh, you have GOT to be _kidding_ me!" Dean shouted to no one in particular, as Cas disappeared from the car. There was a flash of light from outside as the demon was obliterated—luckily for Dean, said demon's face was still pressed goofily on his windshield—and he slammed his head into the steering wheel. As the light faded, he flipped on the windshield wipers. It was time to try a new strategy.

* * *

><p>All things considered, the cat was actually pretty cute. A soft, eight-pound ball of brown and cream fluff with huge yellow eyes and a little spot on her nose. Her little pink tongue darted continuously over her dainty paws, almost like a grandmother scrubbing at an imaginary speck of dirt with a spit-soaked hanky. The only difference between the two was that Sam thought this was <em>adorable<em>. And he was convinced Cas would think so too.

Cas _had_ mentioned wanting a cat at one point, and although he was no longer completely bonkers, he had retained his love for animals ever since. _All_ the animals. And bugs. Dean was not a cat person by any means (or an animal person in general, really), but the mental image of Cas' face lighting up when he saw the cat—and again when he saw what Dean had slipped onto the cat's collar—had him willing to make an exception. After all, Sam had reasoned, marriage was full of compromises.

There was only one problem: The cat hated him.

The little assclown _adored_ Sam, and pretty much anyone else it came in contact with. But Dean was a different story. Every time he so much as walked into the room, the cat would hiss, yowl, claw at his shins, or just run.

"Sammy, will you grab the goddamn cat?!" Dean shouted finally, after what seemed like the millionth slice of claws across his hand. "The little shit's going for the vent!"

"Just let her hide, Dean," Sam groaned. "She's still adjusting."

"I don't want it 'adjusting' in the vent with that ring on its collar!" he snapped. "Besides, what am I supposed to say to Cas, huh? 'Hey, I got a surprise for you! It's in the air duct. Lemme know if you find it!' Something tells me that _ain't romantic, Sam!_"

"Okay, fine, just… chill, alright?" Sam said, climbing onto the desk beside the bookshelf. "C'mere, cat." The cat, damn its evil soul, blinked and hopped down to the floor, purring like a vacuum. "You just gotta be friendly with her."

Dean wrinkled his nose and scooped the cat into his arms, right as there was a sound of rushing wings behind him. The usual "Hello, Dean" didn't surprise him anymore, but Sam took it as his cue to scram.

"Have I offended Sam in some way?" Cas asked with a small frown.

"No!" Dean said a bit too quickly. "No no, he, uh, ate some bad Mexican food for lunch. Tried to warn him, but it looks like he's gonna be stuck on the toilet for the rest of the night. Aren't you, Sammy?" he called out, a bit louder than before.

"Uh, yeah," came Sam's voice from the other room. "Sure will. Thanks for the announcement."

Then Dean noticed Cas eyeing the cat squirming in his arms. "Oh! Right. Cas, remember how you said you wanted a cat?"

"I did?"

"Yeah, remember? When you were, you know." He let out a low whistle and crossed his eyes. "Loony Toons."

"Oh." Cas clearly did remember, but seemed unsure of how to react. "I was under the assumption that you hated cats."

"What?" Dean asked in fake shock. "Me? No! I love cats. Look at this little… thing. With all the fur and… teeth. What's not to love?" He attempted to pry the cat's claws from his shirt, but as soon as one paw came free, the cat let out an almighty screech and swiped her claws across Dean's face.

The pain was blinding. Literally, seeing as the claws had managed to tear directly across Dean's left eyeball. He shouted out in pain, hands clapped over his face as blood leaked through his fingers. Someone was calling his name, then someone else was shouting what sounded strangely like "Cas, no!" before he felt the angel's fingertips ghost across his face, taking the pain with them.

Experimentally, Dean opened his eyes, and was both horrified and relieved at what he saw. Relieved, because he could actually see. Horrified, because Cas had obviously decided the best course of action was to smite the little cat, which lay smoking on the ground with its eyes dissolved.

"Why'd you have to kill her, Cas?" Sam asked, looking like a kid who had just watched a bully break his favourite toy. "She was just scared!"

"No," Cas replied. "The cat was evil."

"How do you even know that?!"

Cas looked confused for a moment. "It hurt Dean," he said simply, sounding as though _obviously_ that justified whatever he could dish out. And in his mind, it probably did.

But it did little to help the situation, and Dean discreetly slipped the ring off the cat's smoldering corpse. Maybe next time.


	5. In Which Castiel Says 'Yes'

When God gave him permission to marry Castiel, Dean wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting. It had become abundantly clear from the start that one of those romantic Hallmark-moment proposals was never going to happen, and every time he went ahead and tried anyways ended in disaster.

Though he would never admit it, the thought of giving up had crossed his mind. Not permanently, of course, but it had occurred to him that maybe with all the crap going on in the world, now probably wasn't the best time for a wedding. Luckily, these moments of doubt would only last a couple hours at the most, and then he would be back to his planning.

As coincidence would have it, when the moment finally came, all Dean's meticulous planning went right out the window. Crowley had sent some of his demon mooks to pay Cas and the Winchesters a visit, but in their excitement at having been chosen for such an important job, the demons had forgotten why they were sent in the first place. One thing led to another, and the demons decided their best course of action was to attack.

Big mistake on their part.

The demons weren't much of a challenge, but the cramped alleyway made things a bit more difficult than they should have been. After the first few demons caught Ruby's knife through their throats, most of the others were smart enough to run. The last one, however, somehow managed to get the sword out from Cas' hand and quickly drove it through the angel's shoulder.

Dean looked up just in time to see the bright flash of light, and he felt his stomach drop like a stone. His heart pounded frantically as he tugged Ruby's knife from the corpse in front of him, then made a beeline for where Cas lay. "Sammy, get the car!" he shouted. The demon was dead, without a doubt. In Dean's experience, anything that had its facial orifices reduced to smoking craters was usually dead. Cas, he noted with a sigh of relief, was still very much alive despite being shishkabobed with his own blade. Wrapping his fingers around the blade protruding from Cas' shoulder, he asked softly, "Cas, you okay?"

"Ow," Cas replied dully, and Dean couldn't help grinning.

"Don't _do_ that," Dean said with a relieved laugh, quickly tugging the blade out and tossing it to the ground. "You're scaring the years off of me. I'm gonna get gray hair! My balls're gonna be hanging down to my knees before I'm forty! Do you really want that on your conscience, Cas?"

Though Cas hadn't quite mastered the fine art of rolling his eyes, he made a concerned effort. "I'm _so_ sorry," he said, voice dripping in sarcasm. "I just find the sensation of being stabbed with my own blade so pleasurable; I don't think I can stop."

Dean had intended to reply with a witty comment about scheduling an intervention, followed by an S&M joke, but what actually came out of his mouth was completely different. "Marry me," he said simply.

For a moment, Cas looked confused. "What?"

"You heard me," Dean said, feeling the anxiety from the past weeks melting away the more he spoke, and he quickly fumbled for the ring in his pocket. "Castiel, will you marry me?"

Cas' mouth hung open slightly. "Are you _serious_, Dean?" he asked, glancing sidelong at the slowly-healing hole in his shoulder.

"Look at me and tell me I'm not serious."

With a long-suffering sigh, and still half-expecting a punchline in all of it, Cas looked into Dean's eyes, and then past them into his mind. All the usual things were there—pies of all flavors, thousands of sigils and wards, an unidentifiable 80's rock song playing in the distance, what looked like photos of his mother, father and Sam littering the floor, and a stripper in a cowgirl hat with a pistol stuffed into her bikini top.

All of them were dripping with blood, but that was to be expected. Things always got a bit… messy in Dean's mind after a fight. What Cas hadn't expected, however, was the echoing voice. Dean's voice, specifically.

_Our Father who… ain't in Heaven…_

_I'm not done with this douchebag yet. He needs to give me some sort of sign!_

_I just... wanna make him happy, you know?_

_You're not gonna smite me if I ask Cas to marry me?_

"I don't understand," Cas said after a minute, and Dean's face fell.

"What's not to understand?" he asked, feeling the panic rise in his throat. "I'm trying to say that I lo—"

Cas shook his head. "That's not what I'm talking about," he said. "You spoke to God."

"Huh?" Dean blinked. "Well, yeah, kinda," he admitted. "Not like I actually heard his voice or anything. Or at least, I hope I didn't. How bad would that be if God sounded like Nicki Minaj?"

"Who?" Cas asked, looking even more confused than before.

"No one, never mind. What were you getting at?"

Cas frowned. "You called God a douchebag."

Dean winced. He'd forgotten about that. "Well, to be fair, God called me a stupid hoe, so I think we're even. Besides," he continued. "I apologized for that. I just… you know. I thought getting your dad's permission before asking to marry you was… I dunno. Romantic? Or something like that."

"But he answered you," Cas said, a note of awe evident in his voice.

"Yeah, he did. So whaddya say, Cas?" he repeated. "Will you marry me?"

Cas tilted his head slightly. "Of course I will," he said, as though nothing could be more obvious. "But what else did—"

"Shhh," Dean interrupted, shushing Cas by pressing two fingers to his lips. "Don't spoil the moment."

Cas made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. "I _will_ have more questions for you later, Dean."

"Yeah, I bet you will." Before Cas could say anything else, Dean grabbed him by the nape of his neck and pulled him into a kiss.


End file.
